After the Divorce, the Whole World is Waiting for Us to Get Back Together - Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The early morning sky carried a desolate silence, as if someone had accidentally overturned a bottle of ink, splashing it across the heavens in an oppressive, thick blackness. Moonlight filtered through the police station window into a rarely used corridor, casting a hazy glow over the pure black shadows on the floor.

After such a long reunion, this was the first time Cheng Xi and Meng Zhijin sat together in peace. The rich aroma of coffee drifted in visible shapes above the paper cups, carried by a warm breeze. Held in their hands, the cups didn’t seem meant for drinking; they were merely excuses for warmth.

Tucked away from the sounds of the perpetrator’s tantrums and curses, the corridor was quiet. Cheng Xi’s crimson, manicured nails tapped lightly against her cup. She paused, then spoke first: “Um, Xiao Wu told me about the lawyer. Thank you and your father. I know it’s hard to get a conviction against a mental health patient.”

“No need,” Meng Zhijin shook her head, not finding the task particularly difficult.

This was to be expected. Meng Zhijin came from a prestigious family. Her mother was a legendary actress who had won every major domestic award, and her father was the founder of the law firm with the highest win rate in the country—unbeaten since its inception.

“What are your plans now?” Meng Zhijin asked.

“Sell the apartment and move somewhere with better security,” Cheng Xi replied. No matter how unwilling she was, it was the only option left.

“Given your current financial situation, how good of a house do you think you can actually get?” Meng Zhijin followed up.

Cheng Xi was caught off guard by the bluntness of the question. She looked at Meng Zhijin, who sat as straight-backed as ever. Even after a full day of shooting and likely suffering from back pain, the woman didn’t allow herself a second of relaxation in public.

A sense of vast distance opened up between them in the light of the hallway. The surprise in Cheng Xi’s eyes slowly faded into her usual mask of indifference. Her voice turned lazy: “If I can’t get a great one, can’t I get a mediocre one? If all else fails, I’ll just fade out slowly. If no one’s paying attention, things like today won’t happen. Honestly, I’m pretty much at that stage already.”

Saying this, Cheng Xi leaned back against the iron hallway chair. The icy metal sapped the warmth from her back through her thin white shirt. A self-deprecating smirk flickered in her unfocused eyes. She hadn’t wanted to admit her defeat in front of Meng Zhijin, but she could no longer avoid it. Over the last two years, under Chen Zhuoying’s deliberate targeting, her life had been a mess.

A complete mess.

As her words fell, the expression on Meng Zhijin’s face shifted for a split second. Cheng Xi couldn’t see it clearly. She wondered if it was another hallucination, but then Meng Zhijin spoke: “Do you truly know what you want right now?”

“In the past, you were never one to settle for the status quo.”

Meng Zhijin’s voice was light and cool. More accurately, it was clinical. This was their first time alone since the divorce. The fragile atmosphere of “peaceful strangers” vanished as the past was unearthed. These two people, who seemed like worlds apart to outsiders, were once lovers who knew each other intimately. The paper wall they had painted white was now torn open, revealing a gaping, embarrassing hole between them.

The atmosphere grew heavy. A cold draft brushed past Cheng Xi’s ankles. Gripping her only source of heat, she forced a smile and echoed: “Yes, like you said—the past.”

“The past is gone. How can anyone go back?”

“No one can go back. Everyone must move forward,” Meng Zhijin stated.

Cheng Xi’s heart sank. She stared at the brownish coffee, her voice tight with a mix of stubbornness and resentment. “I am moving forward.”

“Moving forward and treading water are two different things,” Meng Zhijin countered. “You know better than I do how fast the domestic entertainment industry iterates. Everyone is standing in a rushing river; you only move forward if you grab a rope.”

“And the ‘rope’ you’re talking about is Our Romantic World?” Cheng Xi asked.

Meng Zhijin nodded. “Yes.”

“Qi Ming must have analyzed your situation for you. I am the only one who can help you bypass Chen Zhuoying.”

Meng Zhijin’s nod was so quick and her answer so blunt that it made Cheng Xi’s brow furrow. She had endured too much today to have the strength for this struggle. But looking at the woman who could say such clinical things so calmly, she couldn’t help her emotions from surfacing. “Meng Zhijin, I feel like I don’t know you at all. Sometimes I really don’t know what you’re thinking.”

Cheng Xi’s words weren’t just about the present; they carried the weight of the past. Conflict emerged from the shroud of time like jagged barbs, piercing their hearts. Even though it should have been rusted and dull by now, it still hurt.

The paper cup rippled under Cheng Xi’s grip before settling. Meng Zhijin masked her expression, remaining cool: “It’s simple. Mutual benefit.”

“The production team is top-tier, and the traffic is immense. I haven’t been on domestic screens for two years; I need this opportunity. When the offer came, it was naturally within our team’s considerations.”

Cheng Xi pressed further, chasing her previous doubt: “Then why me?”

“Because you were the only one without a matched partner,” Meng Zhijin answered without hesitation.

The implication was clear: she was merely following the rules. No use of her Best Actress “privilege,” and no personal feelings involved. It was the perfect answer. And the worst one.

The light fell between them, and their shadows on the wall were separated by a distinct gap. Cheng Xi felt as though a bucket of cold water had been poured over her. She was shivering, yet she was finally awake.

“Ambition is a monster that can never be satiated. It only gives you what you want if you keep feeding it resources. If you want to climb back up, I can be your ladder.”

Meng Zhijin looked at Cheng Xi. Her pupils were as pure black as the night, like Minerva stepping out of Zeus’s head, once again teaching Cheng Xi the laws of survival. It was a blunt offer, yet it carried an ambiguity of willing sacrifice.

It made Cheng Xi—the “fox” usually so used to seducing others—freeze for a moment.

Meng Zhijin continued, seemingly ignoring Cheng Xi’s daze, cutting off any ambiguity before it could settle: “If it feels awkward, then approach the show with that mindset: gain exposure, increase your commercial value.”

Her tone remained cold. After a pause, she asked: “Cheng Xi, do you still want to be Best Actress?”

Time seemed to hit the pause button. Cheng Xi could hear her own heartbeat. It wasn’t the decadent ambiguity of her dreams. A numb sense of unwilling resignation woke up within her, struggling out of her worn-down spirit. It tore at the stagnant, decaying parts of her soul she’d accumulated over the last year, bringing a sharp pain like teeth breaking through gums.

That had been her only goal when she entered this circle. How could she not want it?

The silence in the corridor shifted. Meng Zhijin, seeing the mischief fade from Cheng Xi’s eyes, didn’t pursue the topic. She simply said: “Think it over. It’s late, and I have an announcement to film tomorrow morning. I should go.”

With that, Meng Zhijin rose gracefully to leave. The moonlight was hazy, a quiet orb behind the dark clouds. The warm coffee in Cheng Xi’s hand had gradually lost its heat.

After Meng Zhijin left, Cheng Xi sat alone. Her mind raced through many things—her past, and the ambition she had once confessed to Meng Zhijin.

It had been a night with a similar starry sky. After a long night shoot, the crew was packing up. The theater was filled with the damp scent of midsummer curtains. Cheng Xi had sat on the edge of the stage, swinging her legs.

“Kid, what are you thinking about?”

A woman’s cool voice and the touch of a cold soda can hit Cheng Xi’s cheek simultaneously. She turned to find Meng Zhijin standing behind her. She had changed out of her costume, but her hair was still styled a braid interwoven with a pale yellow silk scarf, adding a touch of softness to her usual aloofness.

Perhaps her ambition was big enough to tell anyone, or perhaps it was the proximity created by Meng Zhijin’s momentary warmth.

Cheng Xi had blinked and said candidly, even arrogantly, to this woman she had known for less than a week: “I’m wondering if I can ever be the lead. If I can ever stand on that podium and hold a Best Actress trophy.”

“Then do your best to get there,” Meng Zhijin had replied, her fingers, chilled by the cold drink, brushing against Cheng Xi’s cheek.

The conversation felt like it happened yesterday. Yet Cheng Xi saw herself drifting further and further from that goal. Her ambition was shriveled and dry in a corner, as if it would crumble at the slightest touch. But today, Meng Zhijin had touched it, and it hadn’t crumbled. Only the dust of her own forgetfulness had been shaken off.

“Xi-jie!” Xiao Wu’s voice echoed down the hall, snapping her back. “There’s still some paperwork, but Sister Ming booked a room for you. Let’s head back first.”

Cheng Xi nodded and walked toward Xiao Wu. “Have you been looking for me long?”

“Not really! This place is easy to navigate. I just walked toward the quietest spot.” Xiao Wu led her to their van. The comfortable temperature inside chased away the night chill. Cheng Xi noticed the driver had been swapped out.

She didn’t pay much attention to that, her focus entirely captured by a large, unopened bag of White Rabbit milk candies on the seat. Cheng Xi loved milk candy, especially when she was feeling down. In fact, she’d only picked up this habit in the last three or four years…

Her memories were restless. She frowned. She grabbed the candy and teased as she opened them: “Xiao Wu, we’ve only been apart for a few hours. When did you get so clever? Buying White Rabbit for me?”

Xiao Wu didn’t take the credit. She confessed: “It wasn’t me, Xi-jie. It was Teacher Meng.”

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